Saying Goodbye Is Never Easy
by BeckyConda
Summary: With the war won, Hermione Granger isn't feeling like celebrating at all. Now she must face the funerals of all the friends she lost during the battle, encountering surprises along the way and running into someone she didn't expect to see.


**I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters, all rights go to J.K Rowling.**

* * *

The rain poured down heavily, the perfect weather to set the scene for that day. The sun was hiding behind the clouds in the sky, as if afraid to shine happily down on the crowds of people, and the sky was dark and dull, despite the fact it was midday. Hundreds of people had arrived, to show their respect and weep for the ones they'd lost.

Fred had been buried in the back garden of the Burrow, underneath a blossoming cherry tree. The funeral had been a private one, with only family and close friends present. This time, however, they couldn't hope for such a thing. Thousands of people wanted to journey to Hogwarts on this particular day, and Professor McGonagall had tried to prevent the school grounds becoming flooded with witches and wizards from all over the world, but who could really deny them their right to grieve?

Hermione stood at the front, dressed fully in black, her normally wild hair tamed into sleek curls that rolled softly down her back. Her face was blank, reflecting the emptiness she felt inside. She was completely aware of the fact that she stood alone, and the thought was too painful to bear. So used she'd become to having her two best friends by her side. She stood still, barely hearing the words spoken by McGonagall. She watched the elderly professor, her face worn and tired. The last year at Hogwarts had taken its toll on her, but she still refused to leave, and was now the Headmistress of Hogwarts.

Hermione glanced at the caskets in front of her, thankful that they weren't open and had instead been nailed shut. She was afraid to see what was inside of them, feeling like a small child who was afraid to go into a dark room. Afraid of what they'd see. She didn't appear to react at all, the same blank, empty expression upon her face throughout the service. Her head was held high, and she clutched her umbrella so tightly in both hands that her knuckles were turning white, although she didn't appear to notice.

Luna came up beside her, Neville following silently.

"Hello Hermione," Luna said quietly, looking straight ahead at McGonagall.

Hermione made no move to reply, not trusting her voice to stay calm and steady. She felt like a bomb, ticking down to the moment it would explode, and only hoped no one would still be there when that happened. Luna didn't seem to mind not receiving a reply, she looked as if she hadn't expected one in the first place. She knew today was difficult for Hermione, and the two may not have been very close, but she was going to stick by her all the same.

She heard a sniffling to her right, and turned to see Ginny, her head bowed in sorrow, her face hidden from Hermione's view by her long, bright orange hair. Hermione let go of her umbrella with one hand, and reached across, clasping Ginny's in her own. The younger witch didn't look up, or make any sign of acknowledgement, except giving Hermione's hand a gentle squeeze. A silent thank you.

As hard as this day was for Hermione, she couldn't imagine how it felt for the Weasley family. How could a family so caring, so loving and kind have so much pain inflicted upon them? What had they done that was so wrong, what had _she_ done that was so wrong, to deserve any of this?

People began to leave slowly, many coming to the front and placing flowers against the caskets. Occasionally someone would touch Hermione's shoulder as they passed, and when she didn't react they would sigh, and walk away shaking their head. Soon only Hermione was left, along with Luna, Neville and what remained of the Weasley family. She was relieved to finally not have to put on such a brave face, and relaxed slightly, her body feeling stiff from standing still for so long.

"Hermione, are you alright?" Ginny asked quietly, turning to face her for the first time.

Hermione turned her head to the side, looking at the youngest Weasley, her puffy red eyes and the worry and grief in her bright eyes. She smiled slightly - a small, painful smile.

"I'm fine."

Ginny nodded, turning her face away again. She didn't believe Hermione's words for one moment, but she didn't pry, she didn't insist on talking about it. She was as reluctant to face the truth of the situation as Hermione was, and the two girls found themselves leaning on one another for support, having no need to spill everything to each other. Just knowing the other was there for them was enough, for now.

"He would be happy, at least," Ginny said suddenly, her gaze fixed on the casket to the left. "He's with his mother and father now, what he always wanted." Her voice cracked as she spoke, sobs wracking her body as she darted away into the arms of her mother.

Hermione gazed after her for a moment, before she couldn't watch any longer without bursting into tears herself. She couldn't help the feeling of jealousy coursing through her at the sight of her friend in the arms of her mother, being comforted by her. Ginny had her remaining family to look after, who did Hermione have? No one. Nobody at all. Everyone she loved was gone. They'd all left her to tackle the cruel, harsh world herself, and she had no clue how to go about it.

"Are you coming Hermione? Everyone's going now," Neville said quietly, glancing at her worryingly.

She'd spoken just the once the whole day, unlike her normal self. She used to be so full of life, laughing and joking with the rest of them, but now she was reserved and closed off. He couldn't even tell what she was thinking anymore, let alone get a sentence or two out of her.

"Hermione wants to be left alone right now, but she's too polite to ask us to leave," Luna said to him, taking his hand and beginning to walk in the opposite direction, pulling him with her. "Come along, Neville."

Neville didn't complain or try to stay. He followed her sadly, glancing backwards at Hermione every now and again until she was completely out of sight.

Luna brightened up slightly as they walked, her gaze fixed on a certain spot underneath the trees. As they walked past, she smiled into the shadows. "Hello, Draco." She said pleasantly.

Neville's head whipped around to look as well, and sure enough, mostly hidden in the shadows of the trees stood none other than Draco Malfoy. He glanced intently back at them both, seeming to look as if he were bored.

"Lovegood." He muttered, nodding stiffly in her direction.

The conversation ended there, and Luna didn't make any attempt to continue it. She carried on walking to the apparation point, Neville at her side, who was now not only feeling miserably but also terribly confused.

* * *

Once everyone had left and Hermione was alone, her legs gave out underneath her, and she fell into a heap on the floor, feeling the sobs building up in her throat. She looked up at the two caskets in front of her with teary eyes, her lip trembling with the effort to keep her tears at bay, unaware of the fact that she wasn't as alone as she'd thought.

Draco watched her from afar, under the shelter of a nearby tree, beginning to question why he'd come int he first place. He'd been too afraid to approach the crowds of people, call it Slytherin cowardice or what you'd like, he knew he wouldn't be welcome there. As cruel as some may think him, he would never disrupt a funeral.

He watched as she fell to the floor, and when she lifted her head the look on her face almost sent him staggering backwards. The crippling pain shining in her eyes overwhelmed him with a feeling of pity. Who would have thought he, Draco Malfoy, would feel pity towards one Hermione Granger. He felt uncomfortable, feeling as if he was intruding on a private moment of hers, but he didn't leave. He remained where he was, an ever watchful shadow.

He'd been surprised at the turn out today. Not because there were more people than he'd expected, but in fact far less. He'd imagined thousands upon thousands of witches and wizards appearing, all wanting to pay their last respects to their hero.

Hermione broke down into a fit of sobs, her whole body shuddering from the cold, her hands placed one on each casket. Once she'd begun to cry she couldn't stop, each sob coming more violently, more painfully than the first.

"How could you," she croaked, glaring at the caskets. "Do you think it's fair to leave me here? Did this situation not even _cross_ your minds, that you'd leave me all by myself?" She shouted hotly, her voice rising as she went on.

She bowed her head, banging her fists against the solid wood. "IT'S NOT FAIR!" She yelled, her chest heaving. "I can't do this. I can't live without you two, you morons. I don't know what I'm meant to do anymore. Why couldn't you have been more careful?" She ranted, her voice trembling as she shook her head, tears falling rapidly down her face.

Draco felt like he was spying, and the feeling of uncomfortableness grew until he was itching to leave, but he couldn't move from his spot. He watched her intently, as she poured her heart out to the empty air. He'd seen how it had happened, from afar just like he was watching her now.

Harry Potter had defeated Lord Voldemort, and his followers had fled in fear. Their trust in their master had been their downfall, and once he was no more, they were criminals that had no promise of safety. No one dared touch them when with Voldemort, but now he was dead, they were exposed and none of them desired going back to Azkaban, especially with the dementors returning to the service of the Ministry.

Everyone had celebrated their victory, and Harry Potter was their saviour, their hero. They owed their lives to him, and they couldn't thank him enough. Draco had been shocked, and still was to this day when thinking back on it, when Harry had approached him. Believing he was being sent to Azkaban, Draco had been afraid, the temptation to run was almost too much to resist. Instead he had been taken by surprise, and still remembered Potter's words to this day.

_I know Voldemort was holding you in his service against your will. I saw you on the Astronomy Tower that night in our sixth year, I saw you lower your wand. You wouldn't have killed Dumbledore. And that got me thinking maybe you're not as bad as we all thought, Malfoy. And then again at Malfoy Manor. You knew it was me, but you didn't say anything. I don't think you've done anything that deserves a sentence in Azkaban, and I wont forget that your mother saved my life. You're free to go. I've spoken to Kingsley, no charges will be held against you. This is my way of saying thank you, I suppose, I just hope you accept it._

Draco had been leaving Hogwarts with his mother when everything had turned into a nightmare. No one had noticed his aunt was hiding in the rubble, and when Harry stepped outside she send a killing curse his way which caught him off guard. He dropped dead instantly, having no time to defend himself. Shrieks filled the air, and Weasley and Granger had turned to face Bellatrix, but she was determined to complete her precious master's unfinished work. She took down Weasley, too, before Hermione's killing curse hit her square in the chest. Everyone's happiness had turned to horror, as their hero Harry Potter and his best friend, Ron Weasley lay dead on the floor, only moments after the wizarding world had been liberated from the clutch of Lord Voldemort.

To Voldemort's followers Bellatrix had died a hero of their own, and they felt some gladness in the Boy Who Lived finally being pronounced dead for good, as pay for their Lord's demise. The look on Hermione's face as she gazed at the unmoving bodies of her best friends had been similar to the one she wore now, full of pain and sorrow. Heartbreaking to look at. The cries of the Weasley family had filled the air that day. Now they'd got two sons to bury.

Hermione cried until no more tears would come, and she began to hiccup, her breath hitching as she tried to calm herself down. Their death still haunted her, she dreamt about it most nights, the bright green flash and then nothingness. Each time she seemed to become more aware of the sneering, triumphant smirk upon Bellatrix's face at the sight of her good work.

Bellatrix hadn't had a funeral as such. Several family members had gathered in her memory, those who were close to her, or at least grieved for her slightly. Draco, however, had not been present. He'd refused to go, no matter how much his mother begged him to. He didn't feel like his aunt deserved any sort of funeral, to the surprise of his mother, who was only just beginning to notice just how much her son had really changed.

"I miss you," Hermione whispered, her voice broken and empty.

Her words weren't only directed at Harry and Ron, but at everyone she'd lost. She unwillingly thought of her parents. How foolish she'd been to ever think they'd be even remotely safe. She'd contemplated asking Molly if they could stay at the Burrow, but she felt guilty at the thought of adding more stress to the woman who was like a second mother to her. The woman who had already done so much for her through the years. Besides, if she'd asked such a thing, the whole Weasley clan would have become suspicious of her motivations for doing so, and would have eventually figured out her plans to leave with Harry and Ron in search of the horcruxes. And, really, it was better for them if they didn't know. They were safer that way.

She'd believed that if she left, the Death Eaters would follow her and not her parents. How stupid she'd been to ever think such a thing. They'd gone to her house, of course, and found her parents there. They'd tortured them for information, grinning wickedly as they lay writhing on the floor, screaming for mercy, begging for the pain to stop. They'd taken pleasure inflicting such excruciating pain on the muggles, knowing how badly it would affect Hermione once word reached her. They'd tortured them half mad before they finally put them out of their misery, and had left empty handed. Her parents hadn't spilled one word of information about either her, Harry or Ron, or their whereabouts, right up until the very end.

She was proud of her parents, but the terrible guilt ate away at her every single day. She often found herself daydreaming of what life would be like if they were still here, if Harry and Ron were still with her. She'd been extremely close to her parents, had written to them at least once a week and missed them terribly when she was away at Hogwarts. And now she would never get to see them again. And the worst part of all was that they'd died without her getting to say goodbye. She'd been robbed of the chance to tell them goodbye, to say thank you. Robbed of the chance to say she loved them one final time and let them know just how grateful she was to have had such amazing parents, and that's what hurt the most.

Draco moved swiftly from underneath the tree and into the rain which had slowed to a drizzle. He walked around the edge of the trees, for some strange reason he didn't want her to see him. Not yet. He felt like he was intruding, yet the old Draco would have approached her, arrogantly insulting her in the hope of making her cry even more, but the war changed him, however much he wished it hadn't. He'd seen his aunt torture her in his own house, had heard her screams of pain and seen the blood covering her. He couldn't help but notice that her blood was the same colour as his own. It wasn't dirty, it wasn't contaminated, it was exactly the same. Oh how he wished he could go back to being that naive, young child he once was.

* * *

He walked slowly, silently behind her, approaching her almost hesitantly. She was still crying, but not as badly as before, and for that he was thankful. When people cried, others were expected to comfort them, and merlin knows how terribly awkward that would be. He stood behind her, surprised that she hadn't heard him. Was she so distracted that she didn't notice the world around her?

Draco reached over her, placing a white rose on top of Potter's casket. Hermione jumped, gasping loudly when a pale, slender hand appeared in front of her, and her head snapped up, coming face to face with the one person she never thought she'd see again.

"Malfoy?" She asked incredulously, wondering what on earth he was doing there. Had he come to gloat, to celebrate the fact that his childhood rival was finally dead?

Draco turned his face towards her, spotting the tear stains trailing down her cheeks, her eyes red and puffy, and her chocolate brown eyes filled with sadness. He nodded once, before turning away again. He stood silently beside her, his eyes fixated on the caskets in front of him. For so many years he'd referred to Potter as _The Boy Who Just Would Not Die_, and yet here he was, at the idiotic Gryffindor's funeral.

Hermione hurriedly looked away, turning her back to him as she scrubbed furiously at her face. How weak he already thought her to be, seeing her cry would only make it so much worse.

Draco paid no attention to her, placing a red rose on Weasley's casket, without uttering a single word. This one surprised Hermione the most, and she watched him curiously, interest sparkling in her eyes for the first time in a while. Where Draco and Harry had never agreed, Draco and Ron were a completely different story. Their families hated each other, and were constantly at each other's throats.

The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable, but Hermione had many questions swirling around her brain she wished to ask him. She just had no idea how to go about it. Her and Malfoy had never been friends, not even close. He'd hated her for her blood status, and she'd hated him for his prejudice ways and his smugness. So how exactly did you approach your childhood enemy with questions they may not want to answer?

As Hermione pondered this, Draco bowed his head, shoving his hands into his coat pockets and muttering something quietly to himself that she didn't quite catch. Without a word to her, he turned and walked away, his head still bowed, looking at his feet.

"Why did you come today?" She asked. The question she wanted answered most of all.

Her question brought him to a halt, and he stood there for a moment before answering her, not raising his head as he spoke, his back still to her.

"They saved my life," he replied, the bitterness evident in his tone.

He felt like he owed Potter and Weasley for not leaving him to burn in the Room of Requirements, and again for allowing him and his parents to go free after the war, instead of throwing them all in Azkaban to rot. He hated this, owing Saint Potter and his moronic sidekick, Weasley. He couldn't change that, however. They were dead, and so he had no way of returning the favour somehow and clearing his debt. He was stuck with it for the rest of his life, a constant reminder of how the freaking heroes saved his life, even though he'd bullied them mercilessly for years.

Hermione didn't reply, watching him as he walked further away from her, before turning back to the caskets. She decided to leave Draco's roses on them, no matter how strange she thought his presence there was. She sat simply staring at them for several minutes until, with a sigh, she hauled herself up off the damp grass. She smiled softly as her index finger traced along the initials engraved onto Harry's casket.

"Goodbye, Harry," she whispered, pressing her palm against the cold, hard wood.

Once everyone was gone, she knew that Harry was being moved and placed in the graveyard in Godric's Hollow, with his parents. Only a select few knew this, to ensure he was left in peace, and his grave was not swarmed with witches and wizards daily. It's what he would have wanted, and Ginny had been the one to suggest it. Ron, on the other hand, was going to be placed near where Fred lay, at the Burrow. George refused to allow Ron to be placed next to Fred. As much as he loved his little brother, he repeatedly told them he had already reserved that spot for himself.

"Goodbye, Ron," she said.

A single tear slid slowly down her cheek as she pressed the palm of her right hand against the cold, hard wood of his casket. She finally tore her eyes away from them, turning her back and walking away, fighting with herself the entire time. She didn't want to leave them there. Once she left, that was it. The funeral would be over, and she would have to go on in life without them. They really were gone, and she didn't attempt to stop the fresh tears from flowing down her face as she walked, feeling more alone with each step that took her further away from them, knowing she'd left part of herself behind, with them.

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**A/N: This is just a small idea I had for a short fanfic, that I wanted to share with the Dramione fandom on here. I hope you liked the first chapter, and please let me know what you think in the comments.**


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